Leaving Udaipur!

October 28, 2010

Pushpa

Hema & Ashish

About to catch train to Indore in a couple of hours. Finally, found time to catch up on blog. Been running round like a rabbit without a tail trying to sort my travels out and my head, which has been in a bit of a tailspin. But all is well for the moment.

Feel a tad sad about leaving the comfort of the Bhanvar Vilas and saying goodbye to the Sharma family.

October 27, 2010

I could scream! I took some wonderful photos of Pushpa, Hema, Kamla and Dimple, their neighbor, in their gorgeous saris which they had worn for their festivities last night. I had also photographed the ceremonies. Somehow or other I inadvertently deleted the whole lot while trying to change the settings on my camera! Still trying to figure out what happened so I don’t do it again.

This morning I walked around the City Palace gardens, which I accidentally discovered en route to the dock to take a boat ride around Lake Pichola. They’re tucked behind the palace so are not easily visible. There are no signs anywhere in the City Palace Complex to alert you of their existence. A pity as they’re worth viewing as there is also a lovely promenade along the lakefront.

The boat ride was very pleasant and provided a panoramic view of the palaces that line the lake as well as the Lake Palace, which looks as if it is floating in the middle of the lake. It’s during this boat ride that I accidentally deleted all the photos of last night’s festivities. I also deleted all the photos of the walk in the garden. Sigh.

October 26, 2010

Thank goodness I decided to go to Govinda for cappuccino this morning as Stefan, a fortyish German gent who I’ve encountered a couple of times before at Edelweiss and Govinda, was there. He gave me some great suggestions of places to visit that were off the tourist track. I now know where I’m going, which makes a nice change!

Stefan traveled all around India on an Enfield about ten years ago. He lives in Udaipur a few months each year as he manufactures leather goods here, which he sells in Germany. As a result of doing business in this country for the last seven years, he is very familiar with the culture and the landscape. We had some very interesting discussions about both. It was wonderful to be able to laugh out loud about the trials and tribs of negotiating with locals and traveling in this exasperating and fascinating country. It is really reassuring to have one’s perceptions be confirmed.

This evening, I was invited by Pushpa and Hema to join in their festivities in front of the shrine of their beloved Ganesha. This special festivity occurs on the night of a full moon, seven times a year and is only celebrated by women. On this day, the women fast from breakfast to around 9 p.m. as part of their devotional rituals.

Special food was prepared: bati dal, churma. The bati part is a ball of whole grain flour that is used to make chapattis that is then baked in an oven. The bati is broken into pieces and mixed with the dal. Here, food is eaten with the right hand. You kind of squish the bati and dal together with your fingers and put it in your mouth. They do not make a mess. I am still trying to get the hang of it but and improving by the day. The churma part is dessert and for this occasion, it was laddoo. Dessert is followed by a papadam masala. Sweets here are always followed by something salty!

I thought the bati dal would be very heavy but in fact, it’s not and was easily digestible.

The women dress up in one of their festive saris and bedeck themselves with matching bangles and beautiful gold necklaces. They do not eat bati dal, churma, until after worshipping at the shrine.

Hema, in her festive green sari, spent the afternoon preparing the shrine by decorating a special alcove, usually used to hold business cards and menus, that is in the lobby.  She cleared and cleaned the space beforehand. When she was done with the decorating, a large cotton Indian mat was placed on the floor.

At around 8 p.m. the women sat on the mat in front of the shrine. On the floor, below the shrine was a tray that held incense, a small bowl of water and another small bowl that contained cotton on which ghee was poured and then lit. The tray was festooned with flowers. It also had rice on it and what looked like large crystals of salt.

Pushpa began reciting stories from the life of Ganesha, Durga, the creation of the sun, moon, and a holy plant, Tuli. Shortly after she began, Dimple, a neighbor, also dressed in a festive sari, came in and sat next to Hema and Pushpa. Kamla, sat on the couch behind them, with me.

During the recitation, one of the women would sometimes interrupt Pushpa to make some comment or add some detail. They would discuss whatever it was and quite often laugh and then Pushpa would continue. At particular points of the story, they would simultaneously either throw a small bit of rice at the shrine or dip their hands in the bowl of water and flick the drops towards the shrine. The neighbor kept refueling the lighted ghee from a small container at her side.

The whole process took about 1½ hours. Meanwhile, life around the shrine continued. Jagdish watched television, the boys played games on the computer and Ashish attended to guesthouse business. People came and went. Pushpa would yawn or burp in the middle of the recitation as did the other women.  A child would interrupt the devotions, be attended to, and the recitation would continue.

At the end, the tray and ghee were collected and we climbed the four flights of stairs to continue the devotions in front of the moon on the roof’s terrace.

Together, the women chanted, tossed flowers and flicked water towards the full moon that looked as if it had black bands across it as clouds passed it by. Occasionally, the clouds would disappear and the moon could be viewed in the fullness of its tarnished gold splendor.

The women then sat on the terrace floor across from one another, exchanged a small covered pitcher of water that was covered with a red cloth on top of which was a piece of Chaki, an Indian sweet. They then gave each other their blessings. Hema did this with her neighbor and then with Pushpa. At the end of it all, the two younger women touched Pushpa’s and Kamla’s feet and bowed their heads before her and did the same to me as a mark of respect for our age and wisdom.  

I was totally entranced by the event and felt honored to have been invited to join them. I could not help thinking that this ritual, passed on from mother to child, would soon no longer be practiced. I’m sure it is not practiced in the cities. So I feel very lucky indeed to have witnessed it.

October 25, 2010

Can’t believe I’m still here. Today I have to decide about where I’m going next. Am in a bit of tizz as can’t make up my mind. Too vast a country, with too many interesting places to see. I don’t want to rush through everything in a hurry. I need to select a few places and spend some time in each.

Went to have breakfast at Edelweiss, a café close to the guesthouse as had a craving for a cinnamon bun! On my return, Hema told me she wanted to dress me in a sari and be photographed with Jagdish. To do something really girlie appealed to the princess in me who’s been sadly neglected. I’ve been wearing the same three white blouses, one skirt and one pair of pants for the last six months. (I’m now the Queen of wash and wear!)

Since Hema was in the middle of applying henna to her hair, I offered to help spread the paste on the portion that fell down her back. Always the tricky part to do on one’s own. I did not realize she had added black dye to the henna so my hands and nails now look like those of an avid gardener’s.

Hema expertly wrapped the sari around me and when all was done, she decorated my third eye spot with a brown zigzag and a red dot. Her array of different color face paints was astounding.

I sensed she really was taking immense delight in dressing me up and it occurred to me she would very much have loved to have had a daughter. I asked if this was the case. Her reply was in her the sadness in her eyes. “Boys,” she said sighing, “are not as warm as girls.”

Then came the bangles. She opened her wardrobe and hanging in a neat row were all her saris below which, was a thick rod that held matching bangles in line with the saris above. I wanted every one of those bangles!

Finally, a lesson on how to walk without my tripping all over myself going up and down the stairs and we were done. I liked wearing the sari. It was cool and comfortable. Only problem is when I went to the loo I could not put it all back together! So I just wrapped all the fabric around me, which Hema had to untangle and rewind from the beginning.

Sari'd me & Jagdish

I’ve just had the most sublime dessert for afternoon tea, my favorite galub jamun served with a thickish milky sauce that tasted a bit like condensed milk but wasn’t, flavored with cardamom. It had bits of crystallized milk floating around in it. Heaven!   

October 23 & 24, 2010

I forced myself out of the comfort of being cocooned in Bhanwar Villas and took myself off to visit the Dilwari Jain Temples in Mt. Abu, a four-and-a-half hour bus ride away.  Since the temple is only open to visitors 1200 to 1800, it meant an overnight stay for me.

Unfortunately, no photos as no cameras or mobiles allowed. One has to go through a security check before entering. And, of course, shoes have to be removed and, if the shoes are made of leather, they cannot be carried inside.

From the outside, the complex of five temples appears to be quite plain but inside one discovers wondrous intricately carved domes, ceilings and columns. Many of the carvings depict scenes from Krishna’s life and include dancers, musicians and people making offerings.

I’m always so fascinated how devout Hindus are in the worship of their deities. I was the only European until a busload of Germans entered the complex just as I was exiting.  But the majority of visitors were Hindus, both local and tourists. Needless to say, I stood out like sore thumb.

As usually happens, a few women approached me to chat briefly. One particular woman, with very striking features, who was maybe 23 or 24, came up to me, followed by a band of her friends who formed an untidy half moon slightly to the side of us. She looked at me sternly or rather tried to look stern but a smile played at the corners of her mouth and her eyes danced with mischief. I knew I was in for something but not quite sure what!

Through rapid hand arm movements, she conveyed that I should not be wearing a ring on my second right toe, nor ankle bracelets unless I was married! Obviously I wasn’t as I was alone!  Added to which, my head should be covered with a sari scarf and I should have a red dot at the point of my third eye!

I sensed she was having fun with me as her friends were giggling behind their scarves as she gestured at me, all the time speaking what I assume was Marwari, one of the languages of Rajasthan. But it could’ve been any number of Indian languages. Between the cadence of her voice and her body language, she had made herself perfectly understood. I indicated laughingly, I had got the message.

She then joined her band of merry young friends traipsed off in the direction of the inner looking back at me from time to time, still laughing. I confess I hesitated stepping up to the level that lead to the sanctum where there was an impressively large statue of Adinatha. When the young women had finished their devotions, and were filing past me again at the threshold of the sanctum, their ringleader perceived my hesitation. She immediately came up to me, touched my arm, and said, “ok, ok,” obviously the only two words she knew in the English language.

Her friends huddled together close by as we spoke, me in English, she in Marwari, if that’s what it was. We understood each other perfectly. They were saying things to her that again caused more merriment among them. I loved their mirth and easy affection with each other. These small engaging interchanges flood me with delight and make me smile for a long while afterwards.

It is a lovely sight to see and hear the women filing past in front of their beloved representations of Vishnu or Siva in their gorgeous, vivid saris. The colorful matching bangles that adorn their slender arms jingle softly as they bow their heads, and go through the motions of their rituals.

The bus ride to and from Mt. Abu was amazingly smooth in comparison to other bus rides. We traveled on a very well maintained dual lane highway. There was even a meridian that in places had splashes of colorful flowers and plants. Not a pothole to be seen. Nor no cows! However, we passed many herds of goats and sheep with their herders on both sides of the highway! No single file for them. They take up the entire width of the lane furthest from the meridian and somehow, by some innate instinct keep within their lane!

 

There was always one goat or sheep that trailed behind the rest, limping. No doubt, a passing vehicle had sideswiped it. It amazed me that the herders sometimes were way up front and did not even glance back to see what the stragglers were up to. We passed several camel processions too. They were much tidier; they moved in single file.

This stark contrast between ancient and modern is always so striking. And to me, is reflective of the extremes one experiences in India. As I think I’ve said before, there is no in between.

October 22, 2010

As he does every morning, Jagdish asked what was my program fro the day. I told him visiting Eklingji temple, about 22kms north of Udaipur. I asked him where I could catch the bus. He immediately said that Pushpa would accompany me. I said that wasn’t necessary, as I knew her days were busy. His reply was that she would not miss the opportunity to go with me to a temple. But he would check with her.

By the time I got back from doing some errands, he told me that Puhspa and I would go together around 4 p.m. as the temple did not open till five 5 p.m. Needless to say, I was very happy that Pushpa was accompanying me. Trying to figure where to catch a bus is never easy as there are no platforms per se and bus stations are not particularly organized. And knowing where to get off is a bit nerve-wracking as there are no announcements, no identifying markers and if there are any, they're in Hindu! I usually manage to find someone who speaks a few words of English but that’s always a crapshoot.

Waiting 

As it happened, Pushpa’s mother-in-law, Kamla, decided to accompany us as well. By the time we got to the bus station, the bus was jam-packed. We were told to wait for the next bus. We waited around for a bit but then Pushpa went up to one of the Jeeps that were lined up off the edge of the road, near where the busses stopped. She negotiated the price with the Jeep’s owner and in we climbed.

Like all owner/drivers of Jeeps, the driver only leaves when the Jeep is filled to the max. He must have felt lucky as he got three passengers in one fell swoop and we were all that he needed to leave.

There were 18 of us squished together in that Jeep. No space to sneeze! Not even a skinny child could have squeezed in. Mind you, if there had been a child, he or she would’ve had to sit on someone’s lap! That’s how it’s done no matter how long the journey! Just like the government busses!

When we arrived at the temple, there was already a long line waiting at the ancient battered wooden doors, which were shut. Soldiers guarded it. I was not allowed to take my purse in with me. Fortunately there was one locker left in which I could leave it. Pushpa and Kamla, as most of the older women do, carry a small purse in their bras.

Men and women formed separate lines. For some reason the doors were late in opening. The crowds started getting restless but then the women near the front started singing and other women joined in, including Pushpa and Kamla.

We had to enter in single file and only walk on the right side. The inner sanctum housed a large black marble statue of Siva. There was also a beautiful silver statue of Nandi, his sacred cow.

We returned by Jeep too. The ride was much more comfortable as Pushpa and I sat in the front with the driver. I sat on the middle part that serves as a storage unit. The Jeep looked fairly new and was well maintained. A CD of Indian sentimental music was playing softly, rather unusual, as music is usually played at full volume. For some unknown reason, all the passengers were quiet so it made for a very pleasant journey back home particularly as he was a careful driver.

I’m have to have learned that if Jeeps are lined up at a railway station or bus, it means they’re serve as mini busses or, rather as shared taxis. I’ve seen them before but did not know how the system worked! Much cheaper than having to a taxi privately, which costs an arm and a leg. One of the drawbacks of traveling alone. No one to share expenses.

Still in Udaipur

October 21, 2010

If I stay here too much longer, I’m going to become a butterball or is it a ghee ball? It’s extraordinary to me that each day my thali is different and as marvelously flavorful as the day before. I found out today that the little beans that sometimes appear in salads and vegetable dishes are soybeans. Who knew they could be that delicious?

Hema insisted I make my own first chapatti. In her kitchen, they are made on an as need basis so they are still warm when you scoop up morsels of food. She also instructed me on how to make my afternoon masala chai. If I weren’t travelling for so long, I’d ask her to make a batch of her mixture as it is the best I’ve had anywhere in India so far.

Last night I was sleepless in Udaipur, yet again. And as frequently happens, my mind was churning and I suddenly remembered I needed to get Hep A & B booster shots. This morning, I was all set to go to one of the local hospitals when Jagdish intervened and made an appointment for me with a friend of his who is a doctor and has his own clinic.

Another opportunity to experience, even if briefly, life as it is lived here.

The consulting rooms could’ve done with more than a lick of paint. Old-fashioned metal fold-up chairs with a dent where one’s bottom is supposed to fit and a little worse for wear and tear, lined the waiting room walls. People sat very quietly. No animated or even unanimated conversations. There was an aura of respect as if in a holy place.

I instantly liked the doctor. He looked like one of the kindly GPs one had as a child and had, what is now an anomaly, a gentle bedside manner. I would so have loved to have taken a photo of his office.

The desk was laden with tilted stacks of aging papers. The bookshelves behind, and alongside the desk, were crammed so tight with books and journals that not even a slim tract could be slid in anywhere. All bore evidence of years of handling. The only clear space, and that’s a questionable adjective, was about the size of the prescription pad lying before the doctor.

The floor was clean at least, but who could even attempt to dust those tattered paper towers. A very narrow examining table was jammed in against the wall opposite his desk; the pathway there was lined with more teetering towers. The sheet covering the examination table was grey and threadbare.

Although I had thought to read the expiration date of both the vaccines when I had purchased them at the chemist, I did not notice that the dose on the Hep A vaccine box was for children.  We had to return to the chemist to get the adult dose. (In SE Asia and India, one has to purchase beforehand one’s own disposable needles and whatever medication or vaccine that needs to be injected. With a prescription.)

I was led into a room with two narrow hospital beds. A very thin woman, maybe late forties, lay crookedly on what can only be described as a grubby sheet, with a drip in her arm. I was instructed to lay down on the equally grubby sheet on the other bed. I hesitated and pointed to my upper arm where I had received the previous vaccines.

The “sister,” as the doctor had referred to her and who was dressed in an everyday colorful sari, shook her head vigorously, pointed to my bottom and then to the bed and insisted I lie down.

I gingerly lay down and requested that the flimsy curtain be drawn as the other woman’s husband was standing at the entrance watching the proceedings.

None of the usual paraphernalia to ensure hygienic procedures was to be seen. No wash basin, no rubber gloves, and no alcohol swabs.  So no pre-and post swabbing with alcohol of skin nor washing of hands done before or after administering the injection. 

Having written this, I was prompted to read the inserts that are included in the empty vaccine boxes, which were returned to me. I now wish I had thought to do this beforehand. For Hep A, the insert states, “the vaccine should not be inserted in the gluteal region.” The sister also rubbed the point of insertion vigorously afterwards. The instruction: “Firm pressure should be applied to the injection site (without rubbing) for at least two minutes.”

I pray the vaccines will be effective nonetheless and my antibodies are up to the levels of those of the locals.  

On the “exit” consult, I asked the doctor how much I owed. His reply, “Mr. Jagdish is an old friend of mine. There is no charge for you.” I tried to insist, but he showed me out the door like doctors of old used to do, by motioning the way out with his arm and giving me an avuncular pat on the back.

Fresh petals floating in water
in Bhnwar Vilas lobby

REGAINING BALANCE IN UDAIPUR

October 20, 2010

This morning went to Govinda Cafe as the owner the other day had bragged to me that he made excellent cappuccino. I was skeptical but it was pretty good. He has a Ciambelli espresso machine and uses Lavazza coffee. I was impressed. It's the first cup of coffee I've had since my arrival in India. 

Sitting next to me was a table crammed full of 16 and 17 year olds who had just finished school for the day.They attend MMPS, Mahrana Mewar Public School (in reality a private school) in the City Palace complex. They're all in 11th grade. Three of them, who all want to be doctors, are in the science stream, the rest  are in the commerce stream with the exception of one girl who is studying arts. They start at 7a.m. and finish at 11 a.m. and attend coaching centers for private tutoring. No doubt these kids are high achievers. 

As soon as I pulled out my MacBook, Kanul, who was sitting next to me, asked how much I paid for it. This happens all the time. He then asked if he could "handle" it!  And like everyone I meet, they wanted to know where I was from, what I do, how long I'm traveling and why I'm traveling alone. 

They were joshing each other mercilessly. It was fun to see the dynamic among them.  Their high energy was contagious. They happily agreed to have their photo taken and had no problem at all about me posting it on my blog!

Had another stunningly delectable thali for lunch today, this time prepared by Hema, Jagdish and Pushpa’s daughter-in-law. I don’t think I’d find a more superbly prepared and flavorful meal in a five-star restaurant! The food here is so wonderful and the family's delight in my delight makes it difficult to even consider moving on.

Again was curious about the spices used. Hema immediately brought out her masala spice tray with little stainless cups filled with chili, cumin, coriander, tumeric, mustard seed, fennel, anise and fenugreek. She used all these spices in various combinations for today’s thali that included paneer (Indian cheese) with a tomato sauce, potato with a small dried bean that I did not recognize, fenugreek that was boiled and ground into a paste and fried with breadcrumbs (unbelievable!), dal, rice and two chapattis. I wish I had thought to take a photo of the thali. I will do so tomorrow.

Hema and her hubby, Ashish, kept offering me more of everything. I could not accept another mouthful. I am saving my favorite Indian dessert, gulab jamun to eat with my afternoon masala chai. Heaven is made of this! 

October 19, 2010

BACK IN BALANCE

Vaibhav, Pushpa, Hema, Laksh, Ashish

A last I am sleeping soundly and am feeling restored. I attribute my restful sleep to several factors: a) I’ve stopped taking Malarone, (anti malaria tablets that disturb sleep patterns and cause vivid dreams; b) It is wonderful to not only be warmly embraced by the Sharma family, but also to witness their daily life and way of being; and c) Last but not least, I have easy access to the internet! (It’s been functioning perfectly since Monday proving the theory correct that the server gets overloaded on the weekends.)

Jagdish even commented that I seem so much happier today. I am.

I’ve enjoyed being able to finally post all my blogs even though it’s a bit tricky to align the photos in a manner that is more pleasing to the eye. Also, I cannot get rid of the white borders around the photos, which only appear once I’ve posted the blog. Unfortunately, although the size and placement of the photos can be adjusted, there is no tab to edit them. If anyone has a suggestion as to how I may be able to eliminate the borders, please advise.

This morning after breakfast, Jagdish wanted to show me more of his beloved Udaipur. He is justly proud of his city. In spite of the pollution in the lakes and the slow deterioration of its glorious ancient monuments and buildings, the city has an aura of majesty and beauty. It is easy to imagine it’s magnificence when it was first established and surrounded by dense forests. 

Saraswati Bhawan Library,
 Sajjan Niwas Gardens

We tootled off again on Jagdish's scooter. Our first stop was the Manikya Lal Verma Park where we took a cable car which gave us a great view of the city and its lakes.

Gardeners attending roses

That was followed by a stroll through the lovely Sajjan Niwas Gardens where the denizens of the city go for their morning constitutional. It is also home to an elegant building that was erected to commemorate Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee and now houses the Saraswati Bhawan Library. Alongside it is the somewhat forlorn Gulab Bagh or Rose Garden. (Now I know that Gulab means rose and that my favorite Indian desert, gulab jamun, is made with rose water!)

Royal Cenotaphs, Ahar

The highlight for me on today’s tour was our visit to the Royal Cenotaphs in Ahar, which is a few kilometers out of the city’s environs. I found the arrangement of the 250 cenotaphs built over a period of 350 years to be quite wondrous. Apparently, this plot of land is still privately owned by a Maharahan!

Our tour finished with a long drive to Tigger Lake through farmlands. Lush it is not.  There were large tracts of greenery dotted about and a few farms had orchards of fruitless trees but the landscape appeared arid in many places. The monsoon rains over the last ten years were insufficient to replenish the water tables. And this year’s rains, although heavy were not enough to bring the dried up rivers back to life. Cattle and goats scrabble on the parched riverbeds for the few hardy plants that have survived amidst the usual flotsam and jetsam left behind when the rivers stopped flowing.

Besides some unidentifiable barren fruit trees, there were no crops to be seen. I did see a tiny patch of land being tilled by a buffalo pulling a plough through soil, that from a distance looked dry and powdery.

Tigger Lake

October 18, 2010

EXPERIENCING UDAIPUR IN DEPTH

L-R, Laksh, Vaibhav, Jagdish
on way to fireworks

Last night’s fireworks was quite an event. We arrived at the stadium a tad early, as sunset was at least an hour away. Most of the stands were pretty empty. But in consideration of the early comers, there was a lively folk dance performance on a very small stage.  We were simultaneously subjected to a recitation of the legend of Rama in Mewari, the language of Udaipur, blaring out of the speakers. It’s a pity I don’t understand Mewari because I am sure I would have enjoyed hearing the legend, as I no longer remember it too well.

As the stands gradually began to fill, I assume because people had finished work, a parade started forming at one of the entrances. There was much waving of arms to motion them to begin to move. It took a while for the floats to sort themselves out and get into line. White horses with red and gold trimmings paraded past first. Some were without riders others had riders dressed in red and gold costumes. The lead horse was led by hand and pranced gracefully in front of us.

The horses were followed by a very motley parade of raggedy floats drawn by camels and small battered trucks and camels. No prizes here but the kids loved them. Some of the people on the floats were deep in conversation with each other and seemed oblivious of their viewing public. One of the floats carried Rama. It was hard to discern the significance of any of the other floats but am sure they all had to do something with the events in Rama’s life.

The parade passed us by twice and then impatient for sunset, the powers that be decided to start the fireworks. I was sure the horses would be startled by the noise but they seemed totally unperturbed. Obviously, they’re veterans of parades past.

I could not help but think the way the fireworks were being conducted would have been outlawed in the USA. Nary a fire engine, an ambulance or a First Aid station were in sight. (I'm beginning to think we err too much on the side of caution about many things.) The firecrackers were lit very close to the stands. We were constantly showered with dead insects that must’ve either been killed by the sparks or the debris. Or, perhaps the sound waves upset their finely tuned nervous systems and sent them spinning to their deaths.  

Some of the fireworks burst into flames on the ground. . I was amazed that the people who were lighting the fireworks did not get burned. Mind you they were fleet of foot.

Chris and Ursula, a couple from New Zealand, also staying in Bhanwar Vilas, and I could not stop smiling. We were very happy that Jagdish had thought to invite us to experience this annual cultural event. The greatest delight for me was watching the children’s reactions to the spectacle. The grand finale was the burning of effigies of Ramanava and his cohorts as well as the symbol of Sri Lanka as Ramanava was from Lanka, as it was called eons ago.

Many of the spectators greeted us warmly as they went by. One woman who had caught my eye several times in the stands below us eventually came up to me with her children in tow. She shook my hand, smiled broadly and said, “Welcome to India.” Her children shook my hand as well. 

This happens frequently wherever I go, as it does to other Westerners too. This kind of spontaneous friendliness towards us from local residents absolutely lifts my spirits and mitigates all the irritations and difficulties of travelling in their beloved Motherland.

Staying in the guesthouse with Jagdish and his family has made a significant difference to my state of mind. Their incredible warmth and graciousness, so unexpected, has touched me deeply.


This afternoon, Jagdish took me on a tour of places a little off the beaten track. The tour included a visit to Bharitiya Lok Kala Mandal, the Museum of Folk Art, where we saw a puppet show, Lake Fateh Sagar, a large lake north of Lake Pichola, and an ornamented pleasure garden, Sahelion ki Bari, aka the Garden of the Maids of Honor which has a charming pond with four elephants spouting water. Even though sadly neglected, it has a melancholic beauty.

Garden of the Maids of Honor

 Riding pillion on a scooter or a motorbike is my favorite way to see any city, town or village!

CATCH UP

Limited access to internet has prevented me from posting daily so have been writing my blog in Word. What follows is an account of the last several days of travelling, starting with yesterday.

October 17, 2010

ON THE COMFORTS OF HOME AWAY FROM HOME

This morning I woke up early, packed my bags, paid my bill and moved myself to Bhanwar Vilas, a guesthouse I found yesterday afternoon. What a relief to be in a place that feels safe and comfortable. My room is clean, light and airy and the fan whirs quietly rather than squeaking and grinding around. There is even a lovely little alcove, perfect for meditating. No holes or torn sheets and towels. Nor are they stained!

Palace Detail

Only drawback: access to Internet is a no go. It seems that on the weekend when everyone and their uncle is on the Internet, the server goes into overload. Sigh. A good thing though as took myself off to visit the City Palace as had done no sightseeing at all since my arrival. But not until after I was given a lovely Indian breakfast by Pushpa, Jagdish’s wife. Pohe, an aromatic cooked rice, masala chai, and laddoo, a heavenly Indian sweet. A marvelous way to start the day!

Ganesh, at entrance to City Palace

The guesthouse does not have a restaurant but one can request meals. I asked if I could have a thali on my return from sightseeing. No problem and believe me, for the first time there was no problem. Happiness is!

I arrived back at the guesthouse a little after one as I was so entranced by Udaipur’s history that I completely lost track of time. I was served lunch in the family’s kitchen/dining room. What an ambrosial lunch it was: dal, rice, a curried yoghurt sauce flavored with garam masala, aloo (potato curry), pumpkin that was fried in oil and flavored with fennel and fenugreek as well as two chapattis and a papadam. And again, two homemade, Churma Bati Dals. I felt so sated! My tummy was in heaven.

Pushpa was most patient with my curiosity about the ingredients for each of the little dishes. Since she did not know the English names, she showed them to me. She was most attentive and kind and was very happy that I savored every bite.

I really am treated like a friend rather than a paying guest. I may never leave this place!

This evening I am going with Jagdish, his grandchildren and a New Zealand couple staying in the guest house, to a fireworks display honoring Rama’s defeat of Ranavana who had kidnapped Sita, Rama’s wife.

October 16, 2010

ON THE CONTINUED STRUGGLE TRAVELING IN INDIA

Travelling in India is like being on a roller coaster. The modifiers are that the ascent is steep and brief and the coasting time is even briefer. And the descent is just as on a roller coaster, rapid and intense! There are days when I want to get the next plane out of here and then there are days that are filled with small moments of intense delight that embolden my heart to continue.

It really is dispiriting to not be able to take someone at face value. I am now very distrustful. I do not like this at all. It is unbelievably wearing to be approached immediately you exit your guesthouse or on your way somewhere. The conversation inevitably starts with some gent assuring you that they’re only being friendly and have no intention of selling you anything. Just when you think that MAYBE the person is sincere, there is some mention of their shop or hotel or whatever and a request “just to have a look, no obligation!”  This and “no problem,” must be the two most used phrases in the English language in India, to tourists.

Yesterday and today, I walked up and down two particular streets in the Old City many times in search of another guesthouse or hotel that had wifi. Each time anyone even began speaking to me, I just shook my head and walked on.

As a result, it seems I’ve developed a reputation. This morning, a very good-looking young man said to me as I passed him by, for the umpteenth time, “You're really hard. You refuse to speak to any of us.” I laughed and told him that I've been travelling a long time and I've become hardened.” He immediately smiled and said “You must have a soft spot somewhere because you at least answered me!” I could not help but laugh again as I walked away.

When I returned down the street a couple of hours later, he stepped up to me and gave me a jasmine bud without a word. I had to smile. I thanked him and acknowledged his gesture.

View from hotel window

Even though I found a guesthouse this morning, it was a compromise as it was the best of a bad lot and my bags had become too heavy to continue dragging around. It also had no wifi. It was a relief to be able to look again for another one unburdened with luggage. It meant I could go farther afield into another area of the Old City.

And oh joy oh rapture, I found Bhanwar Vilas, a clean and airy 12-room guesthouse late in the afternoon. The owner, Jagdish, was very welcoming. He invited me to sit down and have a cup of masala chai before I even looked at the rooms. I felt pretty frazzled by this time and must’ve looked it! The chai was served with a homemade Indian sweet, Churma Bati Dal, and tea biscuits. The chai was particularly fragrant and delicious as was the sweet. And ever so needed.

Jagdish informed me he considers his paying guests his friends and assured me that I would be taken care of as if I were family. He is retired and set up the guesthouse so his son could have a job! The original building apparently was his family’s home. He and his wife, Pushpa, his mother and his son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren all live on the first floor. He renovated the house and added two more floors with rooms to rent.

He showed me several lovely rooms and the one I liked the most happened to exceed my budget. He said I should stay there anyway and pay what I could. “I recognize you are a senior citizen and so am I so it is important for me that you have the room of your choice because then you’ll be happy and comfortable. And that is more important to me than money!"

How could I not be charmed? I shook his hand and told him I’d be there tomorrow around 8:30 a.m.

I've been so busy looking for hotels and wifi that I have done absolutely no sightseeing. I feel as if I lost a whole day but am enormously relieved that I found a place where I can roost for a few days.

OCTOBER 15, 2010

JODHPUR TO UDAIPUR

AN IMPULSIVE DECISION

While having breakfast on Shahi’s rooftop this morning, a young Basque couple, Jorge and Ainhoa, sat at a table next to me. As fellow travelers tend to do, we started chatting about our experiences and places visited. They told me they were leaving for Udaipur, which was where I intended to go next. When they heard that, they invited me to ride with them as they had hired a car and driver to take them there.

I had been fretting about how I was going to get to Udaipur, as there is no train from Jodhpur. The only option was a seven-hour bus ride on what I had been told was a very bumpy road. I thought this was too good to be true and happily offered to pay a third of the cost, 600 rupees!

Since they had to be at the agency in 30 minutes, I raced to my room, stuffed everything into my suitcase and backpack, paid my hotel bill and off we went, trailing our bags along the street. (It is quite an art to avoid runny cow dung, refuse and rivulets of filthy water and the usual traffic. But we managed as we laughed our way along and refused the entreaties of shopkeepers to enter their stores.)

This being India, our departure was not without hassle. When we arrived and the agency guys saw we were three, not two, they were not pleased!  A young boy, who could not have been more than 16, seemed to be the major wheeler and dealer and the primary objector. He was positively obnoxious. He kept repeating to A&J that they had said there were two people when they hired the car and driver. Jorge’s response was “we hired a car and driver for us. What difference does it make if we want to bring someone with us.” (J&A speak very good English.)

It soon became evident what the difference was. About 900 rupees extra to line their pockets. They had arranged for another passenger to be included for that amount of money as we found out from the young German girl. The obnoxious boy and another agency man were taking turns at insisting that three of us could ride in the back with the fourth passenger in the front.

The car, a TATA, is the equivalent of the original Honda Civic in size and space and of that vintage too. Dented and beaten up it was too. The journey was going to be five hours. Their proposal was unacceptable.

I said to A&J, not to worry, I would take the bus and asked the driver to remove my luggage from the boot. Jorge said no way, he had paid for the car for only the two of them and I was coming with as well. The young boy became increasingly belligerent. There was much arguing among the agency guys, in Marwari, the language of this region. Meanwhile a little group of bystanders had formed around us to watch the proceedings.

I stepped up and said, “Enough,” and went to get my bag. An older gentleman, who had been quietly standing by, motioned to me to leave my bag and told the boy to let us go. (I believe my increasingly graying hair was the deciding factor as I had noticed him frequently glancing at me throughout the proceedings!)

As we rode off, we had a good laugh but many times on our journey, we marveled at the unmitigated gall of the young boy and the fact that the agency wanted to squeeze four of us in the car together, plus the driver!

I was ever so glad that I had taken up J&A’s offer as they had arranged with the agency that we would stop off at Ranakpur to visit a beautiful complex of Jain Temples there. What was so extraordinary about these temples is that each of the 1,444 intricately carved columns are all different! I would never have got to see them as they’re off a beaten track on the road to Udaipur.

The road was horrendous. Full of craters, rubble, bumps and humps, that it is amazing any vehicle survives. One of my favorite sights when travelling along country roads is that of women in vivid patterned saris walking in groups or single file. One particular woman caught my eye on this journey because she was holding a basket loaded with a bag of grains on her head with one hand and speaking on a cell phone with the other hand. I loved the dichotomy of ancient and modern custom.

We got into Udaipur around four. Finding a hotel was an ordeal. I usually book in advance but since I was not expecting to be in Udaipur so soon, I had made no reservations.  We traipsed up and down the steep hills, and several sets of steps and staircases to view rooms. What we saw for the prices being asked was preposterous. I finally said to J&A, I had to stop looking as I could not carry my suitcase up and down yet another set of steps. I decided I would try instead the Panorama Guesthouse that had been recommended to me by fellow travelers in Agra. We bid our fond farewells and I took an auto rickshaw there.

Standing at the reception desk was a man picking his nose. He stared at me as I struggled to get my suitcase up the steps to the entrance. (I was also carrying a small backpack and a tote bag with bottles of water.) He did not say anything at all so I asked him if he was the person who could show me a room. He wiped his finger off on his pants and moved desultorily around the desk to get a key and showed me what rooms were available with a decided lack of civility.

Again the rooms were overpriced but I managed to get the price reduced by one hundred rupees for the room I chose. Not a good choice but I was too hot, tired and hungry to look further.

Traveler’s Tip: Never accept the price quoted as the price can be reduced anywhere from 500 (for expensive places) to 100 rupees I learned this from other Indians who start offering half the quoted price!

The positive element about my staying the night here is the convenience of their rooftop restaurant, which has a superb view of Lake Pichola in the middle of which is the renowned and beautiful Jagniwas Island Lake Palace, now a five-star hotel. Much to my tummy’s delight and my surprise, the food was delicious!

I’ll look for another guesthouse tomorrow.

October 14, 2010

JODHPUR

Arrived last night around 8. To my dismay, the auto rickshaw driver that the guesthouse had arranged to meet me was not there. Fortunately, I was in a relaxed frame of mind because of some lovely encounters with Indians on busses and trains and at the railway station in Ajmer, from where I had caught the train. I also had managed to have a restorative nap. So I did not panic!

As expected, the minute I walked out the station, auto rickshaw driveres pounced. Most left me alone once I told them someone was meeting me. One was very persistent and kept asking me the name of my hotel and even though I told him I did not need a rickshaw, he would not let up.

To my relief, a 20ish well-dressed man came to me and asked if he could help. I thanked him, told him I was fine and that I was expecting a rickshaw momentarily. But when the buzzard-like driver hovered too close for comfort, I walked over to the young man and his companion, and asked if I could stand with them while I waited. “With pleasure,” was the instant reply, given with a beaming smile. The two men immediately asked where I was from and told me they had just graduated from “Hospitality School” and were “very happy to have the opportunity to be of service!”

Just as a friend of theirs arrived to pick them up, a very tall, lanky man, who must’ve been about 6’7” approached bearing a piece of paper with a close resemblance to my name scrawled on it in red! All was well! The young men bid their farewells and their wonderful enthusiasm and freshness kept me smiling as the rickshaw bumped and bounced its way to the guesthouse.

The shops were in the process of closing and streets in the walled Old City were packed wall to wall with human, animal and vehicular traffic. There was very little space to maneuver. At a particularly congested point, where four lanes met, NO ONE would concede until a pedestrian interceded and forced pedestrians and motorbikes to yield so one of the cars contributing to the blockade could back up and let the blocked car move through.

The driver of my auto rickshaw tickled me, as he had had to almost fold himself in half to get into his rickshaw; his knees were so high up that he had to drive with his legs akimbo. He drove at breakneck speed as he skillfully wove in and around whatever was in his path. His body seemed to move in tempo with his rickshaw without missing a beat, even when forced to stop. His movements were dancelike because they were so fast and rhythmic.

The narrow alleyway that we finally turned into to reach the guesthouse was a bit disheartening because there were no lights and all I saw was cow dung and litter and ramshackle buildings in the light of the rickshaws headlamps. But waiting at the door of the guesthouse, was the owner’s wife, with her 10-month old baby in her arms. A nice way to be welcomed!

Shahi Guesthouse is in a renovated 350-yearl-old former merchant’s home, known as a haveli. The rooms are quirky. I settled on what I think was the quirkiest. It’s small and has a little passageway that leads up to a loft bed. On the opposite side of the bed, steps lead down to the bathroom. Small windows open into the inner courtyard of the haveli on one side and on to the street on the other side. The temple bells woke me at 5 a.m.

Jodhpur, in comparison with all the other cities I’ve visited so far, is relatively clean. I finally figured out that the piles of leftover food and stacks of chapattis that one sees in many of the streets in the towns and cities I’ve visited, are deliberately put there for the cows and dogs that compete for the pickings. Apparently cows love chapattis. I guess their intestines have adapted to refined grains!

I like Jodphur. I have had no inclination at all to visit the sights though. No energy either to brave walking up to the fort perched magnificently on the crest of the hill that dominates the town. I decided instead to meander the streets and visit the Sardar bazaar. It is much smaller than any other that I’ve visited. But of course just as thronged with people. Saw very few Europeans though.

Jodhpur rooftops

My nostrils were assailed with the smell of the mixed spices as I walked further in. My nose easily led me to the spice corner. Apparently the spice dealers of Sardar are renowned. Cone shaped mounds of powdered chili, cumin, turmeric, and garam masala graced small tables before each little stall. Each merchant boasted his Kashmir saffron was authentic.

One merchant finally succeeded in wiling me into his store. Even though I had no desire to buy anything I could not resist the aromatic smells and the wonderful sight of so many spices.

I was instructed to sit down so I could witness with my own eyes that the Kashmir saffron they sold was bona fide.  As I sat down, one shop assistant pulled out a gossamer thread of saffron from an opened packet while his fellow magician put a piece of paper on the table onto which the thread was laid. He carefully poured water over it, which slowly turned a golden yellow. Proof that the saffron was genuine!

But, I was told; it is necessary to wait a while to ensure that the little pool of water remained golden yellow. If the saffron had been dyed, the water would’ve either turned a dark yellow or changed to burnt orange. Who knew?

After the market, I decided to walk to the Tourist Office, which I had been told was about a twenty-minute walk from the market. Since I had had such a lovely time on the government run tour in Jaipur, I thought I’d try another in Jodhpur. Mistake!

Walking in the noonday sun truly is for mad dogs and foreigners. I was heat fatigued by the time I reached my destination. Not only was it a very long haul on foot to the Tourist Office, but also when I got there, I was told the bus tours had been abandoned! It occurred to me the reason might be that since the Indian Government spends a fortune on its promotion of “Incredible India” internationally, there must be little or no money left for marketing on the local level.

I had to smile at the Tourist Office. It’s in a ramshackle building that is hard to distinguish from any other along the route. In front is a scraggly patch of grass that is littered with papers and other debris thrown over the fence by passersby.  Hardly inviting let alone welcoming.

However, the gent behind the little picnic table that served as his desk, was friendly and helpful regarding some of the sights as well as bus and train schedules, which saved me a further hike to the train and bus stations. I decided I had had enough for one day and returned to the guesthouse, by auto rickshaw to have lunch.

Since every item one orders is freshly made­–there is no such thing as premade sauces or rice that is partially or fully cooked and reheated, the wait is long. But at Shahi Guesthouse, the wait is absolutely worth it as the food is really delectable.

View from rooftop of Shahi Guesthouse

Dining at Shahi is a lovely experience as there is a wonderful rooftop restaurant that has a superb view of Jodhpur’s signature blue houses and the fort. Sanka, who is from a small village outside of Jodhpur, and Lal Singh, who is from Nepal, are the chief cooks and bottle washers as well as the guesthouse’s cleaners.

They’re very personable.

Lal Singh and Sanka (front)

At night, they sleep on the roof on thin mats that are stuffed away during the day in one of the nooks underneath the staircase. There is a little bathroom on the floor below that serves their needs. I discovered this because when I went up for breakfast this morning at 7, Sanka was just waking up as Lal, who had seen me go up the stairs as he was exiting the bathroom, had yelled up to Sanka that I was on my way up.

This practice of sleeping on roofs is common here as from my eagle’s nest vantage point, I saw others on neighboring roofs similarly stretching and yawning as they rolled up their mats. (In Vietnam, in most of the hotels I stayed, the staff slept on chairs pushed together or on the sofas in the reception area once the hotel doors were closed for the night.)

Like many other guesthouse staff members with whom I’ve spoken during my time in India, Lal and Sanka, leave their villages to work in the hospitality industry to support their families at home. Their wives and their extended families raise their children.

After lunch I went in search of wifi as I was feeling deprived. Because I’m travelling alone, connecting with friends via cyberspace and Skype is utterly vital to my sense of well-being. In India, finding wifi has become a bit of an issue as few budget guesthouses and hotels have it even though they say they do!

When I had reserved my room at Shahi via phone, I had asked if wifi was available and of course the answer was yes! That was a myth! Though when I think about it, perhaps that is because most hoteliers think Internet access is synonymous with wifi, and therein lies a misunderstanding.

Bantu, the owner of Shahi, directed me to an Internet place. I asked its owner if he had wifi and he said yes! But I was unable to connect to any of the networks that came up on my screen. He wanted me to use one of his computers but unfortunately, the majority of Internet establishments’ browsers in any part of the world I’ve traveled, do not support the Apple server.

Much to my surprise, the young owner of the store went out of his way to try and set up wifi for me. He called a geek friend of his who, I suspect hijacked an unsecured wireless customer’s service in the internet shop's neighborhood, hooked the owner’s modem up to it and voila! I had wifi! I decided not to ask any questions. I was so happy to be able to download my emails at last! I had not had access for 48 hours!

This all took quite a lot of time so by the time I got connected it was dark. I opened all my emails without reading them. That way I could read them in the comfort of my room at the guesthouse. Since the streets either have no lights or are dimly lit, I was nervous about walking back to the guesthouse, as was not sure whether I’d find my way back in the dark. I asked the owner how to get back. He in turn asked his friend to show me the way. Lucky for me, the friend had a motorbike and offered me a ride back to the guesthouse. Of course I accepted! Ah for random acts of kindness.

October 13, 2010

PUSHKAR

ON FIRST IMPRESSIONS AND THE HAZARDS AND JOYS OF PUBLIC TRANSPORT

Ana Sagar Lake in Pushkar is said to be one of India’s most sacred lakes and described as “magically beautiful at dawn and dusk.” Sad to say, ‘tis no longer that way. A muddy brown it is, no blue water for the sun to reflect off of or on. Just dull dirty water polluted with litter lapping at the lake’s edges. Sigh.

I was so looking forward to some down time from travelling as had been given glowing reports by fellow travelers. We were told Pushkar was a lovely little place to relax in and hang out. I was instantly disappointed on arrival, but Wendy, a youngish English woman I’d befriended and who travelled the four hours with me in a government bus from Jaipur to Pushkar, was instantly enamored. It met her expectations but not mine. Go figure.

I should’ve asked her what she had imagined. In my mind’s eye, I pictured a lake sparkling with sunlight that I’d seen in photographs. Silly me. I can only suppose the photos had been photo-shopped!

Wendy immediately decided to stay several days. I immediately decided to stay only overnight. I didn’t see anything to entice me to linger longer. We had to laugh at our contrasting perceptions. Obviously we were seeing the same things through completely different lenses.

Gateway to lake

I decided to stroll through the town after an early dinner to see if I had missed something. Pushkar does have a certain charm under cover of darkness and the gentle glow of electric lamps. Bronwyn–another young Brit whom Wendy and I had befriended at dinner–and I strolled along the narrow streets lined with small shops. Their multi-colored wares-from clothing to jewelry to household items-were artfully displayed in between food stalls selling freshly made dal and rice, pakora (vegetable fritters), kachori (fried pastry rounds) and vadai, deep fried, small savory doughnut rings.

I rather regretted my less than mediocre thali at the hotel as the food stalls’ offerings looked far more tasty and inviting.

The owners and shop assistants, who either sat outside or inside their small emporiums, were friendly and bid us good evening as we ambled past or entered to inspect their wares. Amazingly no one came up to us and insisted that we visit their shop. What a difference it makes when one is not constantly accosted and bombarded with a litany of an inventory of merchandise.

Bronwyn bought quite a few items and on the occasions when we walked out without purchasing anything, there were no sour faces or resentment, just a friendly farewell and a smile. What a pleasure!

I woke up at 4 this a.m. and could not go back to sleep. Once it started getting light, I went out for another stroll. It was lovely to watch the town wake up. No breakfast to be had anywhere though as it was too early. At one of the temples, I met a young Rumanian woman from New Zealand who had just arrived by overnight bus. She is also travelling for a year on her own. We decided to have breakfast together.

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As we walked along we both, in tandem, would stop to take photos of doorways and Enfield motorbikes. Johanna, because her boyfriend was passionate about motorbikes and me, because I had intended to travel pillion on the back of an Enfield with a friend but in the end opted out. I thought it was rather curious that our photographic eyes were so similar without us having even spoken about what captured our photographic attention.

As an aside, so many stray dogs limp and/or have misshapen back legs. No doubt because of having been hit by a vehicle of one sort or another. How motorized vehicles don’t sideswipe the cows is beyond me.

Mind you, on the bus from Pushkar to Ajmer this afternoon, we’d been rattling along the pitted road at quite a pace when the bus abruptly jolted to a halt. All those standing in the aisles fell forward on top of each other. Chaos ensued as the passengers tried to disentangle themselves. My suitcase and knapsack, which I had been holding onto were ripped from my grip by the lurch and fell on a woman who was sitting on the steps of the rear exit doors. Fortunately no bones were broken but am sure she will have a bruised spot later on. I was amazed that everyone just laughed the whole thing off and tended their sore spots by rubbing them.

The driver had screamed to a halt because of a cow! And then both oncoming vehicles and our bus driver tooted their horns till the cow deigned to move!

Travelling on a government bus is quite an experience. The forty- minute journey cost each of us fifteen cents! Well not all, as am sure children ride free. No wonder the busses are such rattletraps. Every time the driver slowed down, the gears sounded as if they would just die on the spot. He had to coax them up or down as the case required. Nix coax. He’d forcibly grind them into position. I thought each time he did that, the bus would surely croak and give notice but somehow or other; the gears got into their groove and off we’d rattle and roar again.

The ride was actually fun. I was the only European on the bus and two young guys in front of me kept turning round and then finally screwed up the courage to speak to me in their halting English. The little boy sitting next to me could not stop staring and every time I caught him, he would shyly look away.

An older gentleman across the aisle from me, with whom I’d been conversing, suggested I sit next to him when his fellow seatmate got off the bus. His intentions were honorable as there was a woman who was having difficulty maintaining her balance as the bus swerved and swayed because her young son was clutching onto her for dear life. The thoughtful gent motioned her to sit where I had been sitting with her son. Since they were all so small framed, the two little boys and the woman could sit comfortably on two seats.

Because I am a “mature” woman travelling alone I am a curiosity to many people, men and women alike. The gent, an engineer, spoke excellent English, was on his way to work. He was charming and kind. I had expressed my nervousness about missing the stop for the railway station but he assured me that he would help me. And he did.

Before getting off at the stop before mine, he went up to the driver and told him that I needed to get off at the next and exit through the rear doors since I was sitting next to them. They were not always opened. As I got up to go, the conductor checked to see if I was getting out and bid me farewell with a wave. All the folks around me, smiled and the children waved.

I like travelling on government busses because locals surround one and they restore one’s belief that Indians are in fact friendly and helpful. I’ve never been smiled at so much in such a short space of time. Although hair-raising my bus ride was absolutely delightful.

Am actually writing this on the train to Jodhpur, which is a five-hour journey. Again, I’m the only European in the carriage and the conductors are hanging out across the aisle from me. One in particular is very friendly and curious. He wanted to know how many languages I spoke and I soon found out why. His hobby is to learn basic phrases from foreign passengers! He greeted me and asked my name in several languages including Japanese! He also brought me a cup of chai, which was very welcome and thoughtful of him! And delicious!